To The Girl Who Apologizes For Living

Dear “I’m Sorry,”

Why are you always on the tip of my tongue?

Why are you triggered by the smallest of things? A bump of a shoulder. A split second of awkward eye contact. One word mistakenly uttered. A mistake for which you had no way of knowing.

You were supposed to be like a parent to me. Reminding me to be kind to those I had hurt and admit to wrongdoings of the past.

You were not meant to be a bully, shunning human interaction, pushing me lower and lower beneath the feet of those who have no business stepping all over me.

In the first place, you had no business stepping all over me.

Enough is enough.

Dear “I’m Sorry,”

Even to this day, I truly am sorry. I’m sorry people had to hear me sing badly. I’m sorry I couldn’t move in time for them to walk by me, so they had to brush against my arm. I’m sorry their days are interrupted by my questions, my neediness for answers. I’m sorry for existing… for being someone who offers nothing that really matters to anyone, except a bouncing board for thoughts, feelings, and ideas. But even then, I know a wall would probably provide the same comfort. So why am I here?

I’m sorry… that I’m unable to communicate my feelings in a way that makes sense to you. Next time, I’ll pretend they don’t exist, so you don’t have to feel bad.

I’m sorry… that I cancelled on you. I was tired. I didn’t want to accidentally blow up on you. I didn’t want to show up and be no fun. It’s better that we don’t hang out at all, so you don’t have to deal with me.

I’m sorry… that I couldn’t do things the way you wanted me to. I tried, I promise. I don’t want you to be frustrated with me.

I’m sorry… that I didn’t know when to let you go. I thought if I just tried harder, pushed my feelings down farther, it would be fine. But it wasn’t. And it didn’t end well. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry… that I’m so nervous. I just want to make you proud. I just want you to be happy. I just want to do it right for you. I don’t want to be burden.

I’m sorry… that I’m apologizing again. Someone said it’s better to thank people than to apologize. But I somehow find that hard. I’m sorry for being ungrateful.

I’m sorry…

Dear “I’m Sorry,”

I’m sorry.

I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want to be sorry.

For once in my life, I want to make people mad. I want to get in their face and tell them how I feel. I want to cut in line, despite the cries of protest behind me, because they cut in front of me first. I want to be hated, because hatred for the me I love is better than them liking the me I hate. I want to make people uncomfortable. I want to make them think. I want to lift certain people and platforms up and ignore those who think it’s wrong, because FUCK them. Fuck them for thinking that they can decide what matters to me, and how I want to express it to the world.

I want to run the race. I want to fly. I want to be taken seriously. I want to be warm and bright, but also harsh and unrelenting, like the sun.

I want to be brave.

You’re a wall. You’ve tried to protect me all these years, preventing me from facing fears, yet unknowingly trapping me inside one. Because I quickly came to learn that, when you avoid fear, you start to fear your own self.

Dear “I’m Sorry,”

Your value has been skewed, just like mine.

One day soon, we can both come out, together, with a better understanding of each other and why we’re both important.

But for now, let me live my life and not apologize for it. I’m sure I’ll need you again. And when I do, I’ll call for you.

I’m not sorry.

And thank you.


The Girl Who Wants To Live